The Squib and The Death Eaters
by Ozma
Summary: COMPLETE. Snape learns that some experiments should not be conducted. Filch learns that his power has a price. (Rating changed to PG-13, because of torture and mature themes.)
1. Rusty Chains

The Squib and the Death Eaters  
  
a Harry Potter fan-fic  
  
by Ozma  
  
Takes place in Harry's fifth year  
  
I was chained up in a shabby excuse for a dungeon. No more character to the place than a hole in the ground. Oh, sure, it was dark and gloomy enough. And terribly cold. I could see mist in the air from every ragged breath I took. Then again, it was the middle of the night in early December. The darkness and the bitter cold could be taken as a given. So, no extra points there.  
  
This dungeon was nearly a ruin, falling down from neglect. Even from the lower chamber I could see the snowy night sky through matching gaps in the floor and roof of the chamber above. The walls were broken and crumbling in many places. Hagrid might have been able to knock some of them down with a couple of good kicks. Too bad Hagrid wasn't here. I was on my own.  
  
The wall behind me wasn't one of the crumbling ones. And, attached to the wall, the chains that bound my hands and feet were also strong, no matter how hard I pulled against them. But they were rather rusty, and could have done with some oil and polish. If there's one thing old Apollyon Pringle, my predecessor as Hogwarts' caretaker, drilled into me it was the importance of maintaining one's tools.  
  
All in all, this dungeon was hardly worthy of the name. It was a furtive sort of place. Not much chance of lingering on in this filthy pit for years, sleeping on dirty straw and taming rats with dry bread crusts. Magic is something I can feel on my skin, though I have never once felt it inside me. Dark magic had soaked into the walls down here; ugly spells that chilled me more than the cold, and crawled over me like hundreds of small bugs. Death in this hole would brutal and swift. What was left of me would likely be transfigured and hidden elsewhere, quickly, in a shallow grave. Possibly before another night fell.  
  
I knew that I would probably never see my sweet Mrs. Norris or Hogwarts Castle again.  
  
When I tried to recall how I'd been brought to this place my memories grew jumbled and confused. I knew that I'd been safe at Hogwarts earlier in the evening. I felt certain that Mrs. Norris was still there, safe. It was one of the few comforting thoughts I could fix onto.  
  
There wasn't much else that I could be sure of. I clearly remembered being anxious about something very important I had to do. And the next thing I knew I was locked in a desperate struggle with the two trollish wizards who'd clapped these rusty chains on me.  
  
Crabbe and Goyle, Senior. I remembered them from their student days. They'd barely changed, except for the fact that they were perhaps even bigger and stupider now. I'd known it was futile to try and fight them. But I couldn't just let them have things their own way. When my efforts to defend myself physically ended in failure I resorted to squirming around like an eel to avoid the chains, and peppering Crabbe and Goyle with curses.  
  
Compared to a true wizard's curses, my own are feeble things. Just words, no magic behind them. Though I do try my best to compensate for my lack of magic with creativity.  
  
After a royal struggle, Goyle's silencing curse had hit me with the force of a backhanded slap, robbing me of my voice. And then Crabbe had cursed the chains onto me so firmly that the rusty things seemed almost as if they had been bonded with my wrists and ankles. It was uncertain whether either effect had been completely intentional. Crabbe and Goyle themselves had seemed a bit taken aback at how effective their curses were. I could understand their surprise since, as wizards go, they're barely competent.  
  
Oh, dear. I guess I'd made the poor ickle wizards angry! Such big brutes, both of them. You wouldn't think that chaining up an old squib like me could have given them so much trouble. Like the dungeon around us, they were pathetic.  
  
Heavy feet lumbered through the chamber above. My vision was blurred and my left eye was swollen shut, but I could still see the flickers of torchlight through the holes in the ceiling. Oh, lovely. My tormentors had returned for another go-round.  
  
The two of them moved carefully down the treacherous, crumbling stairs and set the torches that they carried into brackets on the wall. Crabbe was also carrying a large, heavy bag, which he set down with a thud. Then they stood there, eyeing me with baleful expressions.  
  
Crabbe's nose was horribly mashed and bloodied. I'd broken his nose by smashing him in the face with my head. Hadn't done my head any good, but the sight of that nose cheered me up a bit. "We must take our joys wherever we can find `em," old Pringle used to say.  
  
I was also delighted to note that Goyle was still walking a bit hunched over. I'd been able to get one really good kick in before Crabbe had gotten the chains on my feet. Heh. Maybe there would be no more little Goyles to darken the corridors of Hogwarts. I knew that my successor as caretaker, whoever he might be, would appreciate that.  
  
"Got anything to say for yourself, Squib?" Goyle jeered.  
  
"What's the matter?" Crabbe added. "Your cat got your tongue?"  
  
This witticism made both of them roar with laughter.  
  
They did not seem to mind that I'd been rendered silent. Didn't they want me to talk? Wasn't that usually the whole point of the exercise? I had been very determined not to tell them anything they wanted to know, and they'd made sure that I couldn't, even if I wanted to! Could these two really be that incompetent?  
  
I knew who had probably set these brutes on me, even if I didn't yet know why. Lucius Malfoy. Crabbe and Goyle might be fools, but Malfoy certainly wasn't. Why didn't they seem more worried about what he would say when he discovered I had no voice?  
  
"Soon," Goyle gloated, "We'll have your tongue, Squib! And maybe your eyes, too..."  
  
"Merlin's Beard!" I thought, my heart beginning to pound.  
  
"Er, wait a minute..." Crabbe said.  
  
"Yes, please do!" I thought. "Wait as long as you like."  
  
"We can't take them things from him, Goyle. Not tongues and eyes."  
  
"Well, not `tongues' anyway, since he's only got just one of `em," Goyle conceded. "But why not just one eye? He's got two of those, don't he?"  
  
"We're supposed to start only with the bits that can grow back again." Crabbe said. He was kneeling down, rummaging in the big bag. The torchlight glittered on a lot of sharp things inside.  
  
Crabbe reached into the bag, smiling, to pull out the tools he wanted to use. He walked closer. I pressed back against the cold stones.  
  
"I remember what you used to say, back when we was at school, Mr. Filch. Pain is the best teacher." His voice was much more nasal than usual, thanks to his broken nose.  
  
"You probably still say that to the students, don't you? Well, Mr. Filch, you're really going to learn a lot tonight..."  
  
I'd learned something already. It's quite possible to scream without making a sound.  
  
******  
  
In the Wizarding world, parents who fear that their child might be a squib will often do things to frighten the child, to shock the magic in them awake. I've heard tell, sometimes, of "squibs" being cured. It's my humble opinion that those children were never really squibs at all. Perhaps they were just late bloomers. True squibs are actually quite rare.  
  
I've got a wizard's lifespan, even if I can't do magic. And in my life I've had all sorts of shocks, pains and emotional upsets. I've been tossed around by a Cerebus. I've endured nearly seven years of Fred and George Weasley. Peeves torments me on a daily basis. I've seen my sweet cat hung up, stiff as a board by her tail, looking dead and stuffed. There has been times when I've thought "this is it, I'm about to be either a dead squib or a live wizard!" But, if there is any magic inside me at all, it has just gone right on sleeping.  
  
Crabbe was right, for probably the first time in his life. It was an educational evening indeed. I was able to add several items to my mental file drawer of "Torments I Can Endure While My Magic Sleeps."  
  
The nails were ripped from my fingers. And then from my toes. Hanks of hair were torn from my head.  
  
Kept upright only by those rusty chains I listened, barely conscious, while Crabbe and Goyle discussed other options.  
  
Goyle was still holding my chin. "Teeth are something that'll grow back, right?"  
  
"Er," Crabbe said, "I think that's just kids' teeth. Maybe one tooth would be all right. Get us a nice big one. If it turns out useless, we can always keep it. For a souvenir, like.""  
  
How men like these two can manage to be born wizards and scrape through the finest school of Witchcraft and Wizardry in Europe is completely beyond me. Not only that, they managed to find witches willing to marry them. And then they successfully reproduced, creating nearly exact younger copies of themselves! Magical younger copies, naturally. Their Junior versions were currently fifth year students at Hogwarts. They're all wizards, and I'm a squib! Does anyone really wonder why I'm so bitter?  
  
Goyle reached into my mouth and grabbed one of my back teeth, a big molar, with something that felt like pliers. He pulled. I struggled and coughed and spat blood all over my tormentors. And still no magic rose inside me.  
  
A short while later they decided that strips of my skin would also count as "something that would grow back."  
  
Soon after that I passed out and did my best to stay that way.  
  
******  
  
Voices. I could hear voices through a haze of agony. One of them was very familiar. A deep voice I heard every day. It sounded furious.  
  
"What have you fools done? He's nearly dead from misuse!"  
  
That was Professor Snape! What was he doing here, in this terrible place? Had he come to get me out of here, to take me back to Hogwarts? For a moment, I dared to hope so.  
  
A second voice. Slow, drawling, elegant. Lucius Malfoy.  
  
"He's still breathing, Severus. My scroll specifies the use of a living squib, not necessarily a healthy one. And he's certainly more manageable this way. He gave Crabbe and Goyle quite a bit of trouble, earlier."  
  
"Am I correct in assuming that you haven't managed to decipher all that much of `your' scroll, Lucius? He may have been damaged beyond all usefulness now."  
  
Snape's voice was even colder than this pit of a dungeon; icy enough to freeze whatever blood still remained inside me. He sounded utterly indifferent to my fate, and all too comfortable with the sort of company he was keeping.  
  
The shock of this would have made me gasp out loud, if I'd had a voice. Trust is not something that comes to me easily. But Severus Snape was one of the few people I trusted. My mind rebelled against what I was hearing. This could not be happening.  
  
"We did what we were supposed to do." This was Goyle. "We only took bits off him that'll grow back."  
  
"Except for my tooth," I thought, on the edge of hysteria. "You idiots."  
  
"If he dies, then none of his `bits' will grow back," Snape snarled. "Do the two of you understand that? I am making an effort to use words with only one syllable!"  
  
"We can get another squib if this one snuffs it, Professor." This was Crabbe, sounding sullen.  
  
"Or maybe a Muggle," added Goyle. "Since squibs are kind of thin on the ground. Why can't we just use a Muggle?"  
  
Snape made a hissing sound of pure disgust.  
  
Malfoy addressed his underlings. "Muggles are plentiful, yes. Unfortunately, according to the scroll, only a squib will do."  
  
I heard another disgusted hiss from Professor Snape. "Lucius! What am I expected to do with these dirty badly mangled bits of nail and hair and skin? These two incompetent trolls are clumsier than anyone in my first year potions class! If you truly want these experiments to bear fruit, then the ingredients for the potion must be carefully extracted, under the proper conditions! And I will need to know much more than you have already told me about the process."  
  
There was a pause.  
  
"You are becoming very tiresome in your insistence on seeing my scroll, Severus." Malfoy said languidly.  
  
"Unless you allow me to see it for myself I will be stumbling ineffectually around in the dark, a blind man led by another blind man! Do you wish me to get results suitable enough for you to bring before Lord Voldemort?" Snape asked him.  
  
Merlin's Beard! I could not be hearing this.  
  
Despair swept over me like a Dementor's fog. Tears of helpless rage slipped from beneath my swollen lids. I'd trusted Snape. Worse yet, the Headmaster still trusted him. The pain of his betrayal was every bit as excruciating as the physical torture I'd already endured.  
  
And, still my magic slept.  
  
"Lucius," Snape was saying, "I will not wait around in this forsaken place for the rest of the night. If you will not agree to let me have the scroll then I will take no further part in this matter."  
  
Malfoy didn't appear to like the sound of that. "You know as well as I do that no one else could possibly be trusted with such delicate and difficult work! Much of the scroll is indecipherable! Parts of it are in code, and other parts are missing! You are the only one who could possibly make sense out of the few pieces of the puzzle that are ours to work with!"  
  
Snape's voice took on the silky tones I knew well. "Then why not make me your full partner in this enterprise? And if our experiments with the scroll fail, there will be the two of us to share the blame, as equals. Surely, you can see how this will be an advantage to you."  
  
"Share the credit, share the blame?" Malfoy sounded reluctant, but also like he was thinking things over.  
  
I could barely think at all.  
  
Snape's hand was on my face, turning it towards the torchlight. I was able to get my right eye slitted open a little, just enough to look at him. I wished I had the strength to spit.  
  
"He's nearly unusable, Lucius." He might have been talking about a broken broom. "I do not understand why you insist on keeping him in this place when you have a perfectly serviceable dungeon in the Manor."  
  
"This is one ...project that I have no intention of bringing home with me," Lucius said, haughtily.  
  
So... Lucius Malfoy wouldn't even have a squib like me over for a bit of torture in his best dungeon. I'd be willing to wager that this wasn't even his second-best dungeon. Isn't it comforting to know that some old Wizarding families really keep to their standards?  
  
"How long do you intend to leave him down here?" Snape asked, sounding as if the answer hardly mattered.  
  
"Not long. It would be too great a risk," Lucius Malfoy said. "Albus Dumbledore is no Bartemus Crouch. He's not one to let members of his staff go missing for months and do nothing to find them. Dumbledore will make certain that his squib is found, dead or alive. Nothing connected to the squib's disappearance must lead him back to the Manor."  
  
"True..." Snape murmured. "And Dumbledore will move quickly. You really do not have much time."  
  
There was another pause.  
  
"All right, Severus," Malfoy said, sighing. "We shall be partners. Come, I shall take you to fetch the scroll."  
  
In a different tone he addressed Crabbe and Goyle. "You two, stay here and guard the squib. We shall return shortly."  
  
I could hear footsteps receding, and the sound of Malfoy and Snape climbing the stairs.  
  
I was alone with Crabbe and Goyle again, but apparently I was no longer in any condition to be an interesting plaything.  
  
Once Malfoy was out of earshot, Goyle started grumbling. "No reason we have to stay down here with him, is there? He's not going anywhere. It's a bit warmer upstairs. We can have a fire."  
  
They left the lower chamber as well, taking the last torch and leaving me in darkness. It hardly mattered.  
  
END OF CHAPTER ONE  
  
5  
  
1 


	2. All Cats Are Grey in the Dark

The Squib and The Death Eaters  
  
Chapter Two: All Cats Are Grey in the Dark  
  
a Harry Potter fan-fic  
  
by Ozma  
  
(takes place in Harry's fifth year.)  
  
"Pain is an excellent teacher." It's something I've often said to the students at Hogwarts, the bad ones and the unlucky ones who find themselves handed over to me for a detention. I make them scrub bedpans in the hospital wing, or polish regiments of awards and trophies. Without magic. Until their nails crack and their skin blisters and their fingers bleed. They wash windows and scrub floors and scour walls with caustic potions and cleansers that leave their hands chapped, red and sore. And all the hard work makes their backs ache and their poor little knees throb for days afterwards. The brats hate the sight of me. I couldn't care less.  
  
I clean everything at the Castle without magic. Every day. It's my job. Don't have much of a choice, do I? The students act as though it's torture. They don't know what real torture feels like. Even if the Headmaster would let me put the brats in chains, the chains would be clean and polished. I wouldn't leave the little brats locked up all alone in the dark, either.  
  
All right, maybe my office back at Hogwarts is rather dark and depressing. It's a dungeon! I can hardly paint the place yellow and plant pretty flowers, can I? But it's a clean dungeon. Not too cold, and it's dry. Not open to the sky, with the snow falling in. It's not like this place.  
  
Cold. I'm so cold. Can't feel my hands or my feet any more. Maybe that's a good thing, considering what's been done to them. I can't feel much of anything any more.  
  
The Headmaster will look for me. Even Malfoy said so. That's some comfort, even though I know not even Dumbledore will be able to find me before I die.  
  
I hope I die soon. They need me alive.They said so. I want to die, just to spite them. Lucius Malfoy. Professor Severus Snape. I trusted the Professor, stupid old fool that I am. Maybe I can hang on long enough to tell the Headmaster what Snape really is.  
  
A Death Eater...  
  
There's some noise from the chamber above me. My captors, Crabbe and Goyle, Senior, went up there because it's warmer than down here. They had a fire, but they still complained about the cold. It seemed like they didn't really want to be here either. Well, sorry, gentlemen, it's been a rough night all around. You will be getting no sympathy from me.  
  
More noise from above. The voices had gotten louder.  
  
"What's that? I saw something moving!" That was Crabbe.  
  
"I didn't see anything." That was Goyle.  
  
"Over there! Something small!" Crabbe said. "Looked like a cat..."  
  
Goyle laughed "Maybe it's the old squib's mangy cat come to rescue him!"  
  
"Not funny. Something else is here with us."  
  
"I don't.... wait, what's that...?"  
  
Suddenly, there was a lot of noise from above. Crashes, thuds, shouts. A flash of light that I saw though my slitted right eye. The unexpected commotion made my heart beat rapidly and the silence, after all the noise finally died down, was eerie.  
  
I heard the sound of soft little feet padding down the uneven stone stairs. It was a familiar sound. Goyle was right, I thought, incredulously. It is a cat. I could tell, even though I could barely see, that this cat was not my beloved Mrs. Norris. But it was another lovely lady I knew.  
  
She stood at the foot of the stairs, where the cat had stood only a moment before. Tall, black haired Minerva McGonagall.  
  
"Lumos!"  
  
The tip of her wand glowed in the darkness.  
  
"Mr. Filch...?" she said, looking at me, her voice full of pity and horror.  
  
I supposed that I must look like something no self-respecting cat would want to drag in.  
  
"Let's get you out of here..." she said, fiercely. The chains remained stubbornly attached to my wrists and ankles when she tried a spell to remove them. Practical as ever, she simply blasted the other ends of the rusty chains right out of the wall.  
  
With my only support removed, I fell forward, the chains still attached to me. She caught me and gently lowered me to the floor. The she sat beside me, rested my head against her knee, and aimed her wand at the wall.  
  
"Destruo!" she said. The power of her spell blew past me like a warm wind. Parts of the wall, specifically the places where the chains had been attached, crumbled. It looked as if the chains had been wrenched out of the weakened wall by simple, brute force.  
  
"There's very little time," McGonagall said. "I've taken care of those two upstairs, but Malfoy could be back at any moment.You will need strength enough to run."  
  
I gave her the most polite look of disbelief I could manage, under the circumstances.  
  
"Don't worry, you won't need to run far. This will help you. Just a sip, now," she coaxed me softly. "Severus told me that a sip would be enough."  
  
"Severus?!!" My cry was silent, my voice was gone. Weakly, I twisted away from the small vial she had pressed to my mouth. Snape was a traitor. I would not drink anything he had prepared! Had that snake set a trap for her too? My lips moved silently, begging her to run, before it was too late!  
  
"Mr. Filch! ...Argus. Please. There's more going on here right now than I can possibly explain. There's no time. Drink the potion!"  
  
I writhed, nearly wrenching the vial out of her hand.  
  
"Oh, dear. I'm sorry about this, Filch." She pinched my nose, grabbed my chin and forced my mouth open. When she saw the mess left by Crabbe and Goyle's quest for a souvenir squib-tooth she said a word that I didn't think she knew. But she didn't let go of me.  
  
I've always appreciated Professor McGonagall's firm, no-nonsense approach to things. Though I can't say I enjoyed having her use that approach on me very much. In spite of my desperate struggles a few drops of the potion got down my throat. I coughed and sputtered, twisted out of her lap and curled into a ball on the freezing stone floor.  
  
"I can imagine what you must think of him at the moment..." McGonagall said softly, her hand resting on my back. "But try to listen. He is walking a dangerous path, doing his best to get all of us out of this alive. He can be trusted, believe me."  
  
"Maybe Snape wants both of us dead!" I thought miserably. I lay, huddled, waiting for the potion to kill me.  
  
Instead I felt my pain recede. It wasn't gone, it had just become ...unimportant. A thing that could be ignored and dealt with later. Very much to my surprise, I found that I could sit up. In a few moments I felt strong enough to stand. Dazed, disbelieving, I tottered to my feet. I was even able to support the extra weight of the rusty chains that were still attached to my wrists and ankles.  
  
"The effects will not last long. A few minutes only. Severus told me that giving you any more would be too dangerous," McGonagall warned me softly. "When it wears off, you may feel even weaker than you did before. We must hurry!"  
  
Taking me by the hand, she helped me up the stairs. Snape's potion was making me feel very strange. Things seemed to be happening in a dream. I noticed how she moved carefully up the stairs, mindful not to step in any of the snow that had drifted in through the broken roof.  
  
It dawned on me that she was being very deliberate about not leaving any human footprints. Though she had left footprints in the snow when she'd come down to the lower chamber as a cat. And she didn't seem too worried about the bloody footprints that my bare, mangled feet were leaving on stone and snow alike.  
  
"They must not know the truth of how you managed to escape," she whispered in my ear. "In order to keep all of us safe, you must appear to have had no help from any witch or wizard at Hogwarts..."  
  
We'd reached the upper chamber. Crabbe lay sprawled against one wall, and Goyle lay crumpled in front of the fireplace. Both of them had been knocked senseless. Size and strength aren't everything. McGonagall had more power in her little finger than either of those two had in their over-large, brutish bodies.  
  
"Can you stand on your own now?" She asked me. "Do you think you can run?"  
  
I nodded.  
  
"You must follow me across the small clearing, to the grove of birch trees. There's a stream over there. Run to it as quickly as you can. I do not know much longer Severus will be able to delay Mr. Malfoy's return. There are protective spells around this place to prevent anyone from Apparating and Disapparating. But I can take both of us to safety when we reach the stream. Do you understand?"  
  
I'd never heard of anyone being able to Apparate with a passenger. But, though I still wasn't sure if I trusted Snape, I trusted McGonagall completely. I nodded at her.  
  
"Good," she said, approvingly. She looked at me as if I were a comrade in arms, and not just a useless squib who'd gotten himself caught by Death Eaters and needed to be rescued.  
  
In spite of everything I felt a wave of pride when she looked at me like that. As if I were one of her Gryffindors. I did not want to disappoint her.  
  
McGonagall's eyes twinkled. "They mustn't know the truth," she whispered, "but we can leave them an explanation of sorts..."  
  
Suddenly, a tabby cat was standing there. Giving me a look that said "Follow!" she bounded away from the small, ruined tower I'd been imprisioned in.  
  
Maybe it was Snape's potion making me giddy. But the idea that Malfoy would return to find me gone, my chains ripped from the wall and my bare, bloody footprints leading away, led by the prints of a running cat, made me want to laugh. I didn't envy Crabbe and Goyle when they had to explain that their captive had been rescued by his cat!  
  
I thought that we were safe.  
  
I should have known better.  
  
We heard the voices before we reached the grove of birch trees near the stream that marked the Apparition point.  
  
Malfoy and Snape. Through the swirling snow they stared at us. Malfoy's face was a study in disbelief. Snape, standing slightly behind Malfoy, wore an expression of dismay.  
  
Perhaps there were things going on here that I didn't understand. But I knew that I wouldn't let them take me again. And there was no way that I would ever let them take Professor McGonagall.  
  
Malfoy's wand was suddenly in his hand, but I was on him before he could do anything. The chains lent me weight and momentum. We crashed together to the frozen ground. I smashed one manacled wrist against his forehead, with all the strength I could manage.  
  
It wasn't enough. He was down, but not out. I'd been warned that the potion's invigorating effect would be a brief one. But, the agony sweeping over me as my wounds made themselves felt once more, was still a terrible shock.  
  
Malfoy's fist slammed against my jaw, on the same side as my missing tooth. This new pain, added to all the others, left me so dazed and weak I could barely move. Everything around me seemed to be happening very slowly. Nearby I could see Snape trying to grab McGonagall. It seemed, for a moment, as if the man and the cat exchanged a glance; an apology given and an apology accepted.  
  
And then the cat yowled like a mad thing, and clawed viciously at his face.  
  
Cursing fit to make a goblin blush, Snape flung McGonagall away from him. He put a hand to his face, feeling the bleeding gashes that raked across his cheek, narrowly missing his eye.  
  
"Having some trouble there, Severus?" Malfoy's drawling voice sounded amused. He got up, leaving me lying very still in the snow at his feet.  
  
"I'm not the one who can't even lock up one old squib properly!" Snape snarled, one hand pressed against his wounded face. "And if the old man's miserable cat could find her way here, can Dumbledore himself be far behind? You've ruined everything! Wait... what are you doing?"  
  
Malfoy's wand was pointing at my head. "That should be obvious. I am disposing of the evidence, Severus. Finding another squib for us to experiment on will be difficult, but not impossible. At least the next one will have a much safer master than Albus Dumbledore. Avad..."  
  
I was grateful that at least McGonagall had gotten away. She would be able to tell the Headmaster what had happened. I gave myself up for dead.  
  
"Wait, Malfoy!" Snape strode over furiously, slapping the other man's wand hand down. "This is not necessary! The scroll will be useless without him! I refuse to wait until we can locate another squib. I have a better idea. Leave him to me."  
  
His tone changed, becoming smooth as black silk. "I already have the scroll. There's no need to waste this opportunity. I will perform a memory charm on the old man. He will not remember a thing. I can bring him back to Dumbledore myself. After he heals I can experiment on him at my leisure."  
Malfoy sounded incredulous. "You would conduct those types of experiments? Right under Dumbledore's overly long and crooked nose?"  
  
"Why not?" Snape's eyes glittered. "Do you really want to lose this squib and have to start all over again with nothing?"  
  
"You never cease to amaze me," Malfoy said, sourly. "If I agree to your plan, then I do have nothing. You have your knowledge of potions, the old man and the scroll. Everything! If your experiments are successful then our Lord will be very pleased with you. And I am out of the picture entirely!"  
  
His eyes raked over Snape. "All right, Severus. Well played.You've won. But, beware, for the prize is dangerous. If you fail in this task, you fail alone. I will not stand between you and Lord Voldemort's displeasure."  
  
"That is exactly what I expected to hear from you, Lucius. But I'm not going to fail."  
  
They stared at each other for a moment or two longer. Finally, Snape said "Go. I must take him back to Hogwarts while there's still some life left in him. I will keep you informed of my progress."  
  
"Best of luck, Severus," Malfoy said. He gave Snape a mocking bow and Apparated.  
  
I didn't hurt so much any more. Staying awake was difficult. I could barely see Snape standing over me. My hearing seemed to be deserting me as well, because I thought I heard him sigh and it seemed to be coming from a long way off.  
  
"Filch..." a weary voice that might have been Snape's said, faintly, "you troublesome, old ...git." I was dimly aware of something warm being wrapped around me. His cloak.  
  
"Minerva, take him, quickly. I'll follow you."  
  
It was the last thing I heard.  
  
END CHAPTER TWO 


	3. The Scroll

The Squib and The Death Eaters  
  
Chapter 3: The Scroll  
  
a Harry Potter fan-fic  
  
by Ozma  
  
(takes place in Harry's fith year.)  
  
The gum-dissolving potion in the vial stung the tender skin under my clean, new fingernails. Ignoring the discomfort, I added the contents of the vial to my bucket. Some miserable creature (either student or poltergeist) had left wads of gum stuck all over the undersides of nearly every bannister on the main staircase! The gum might have been stuck there for the entire time I'd spent bedridden in the hospital wing.  
  
The contents of the vial didn't react to the cleaning potion as they ought to have done. Instead of the usual Mrs. Skower's Magical Mess Remover (Extra Strength) frothing and foaming, the contents of my bucket appeared to be forming one huge soap bubble. This bubble rose, drifting up and out of my bucket, a rather attractive variety of colors floating across its surface. It continued to grow alarmingly.  
  
Cautiously, I stepped back. The bubble expanded until it reached the size of one of Hagrid's huge pumpkins. Then it began to quiver. Just as I flung my arms up to protect my face, it exploded. There was a huge, wet SPLAT! A stench, not unlike rotting eggs, filled my office. I held my nose and tried not to choke.  
  
Mrs. Norris, who'd been standing directly behind me, had managed to stay completely dry. Her golden eyes looked me up and down, taking in my sodden condition. She flicked an ear at me, and began to wash one of her paws in a meaningful and deliberate way.  
  
"I'll take a bath later!" I said, testily. "There's too much work to be done right now. And don't look at me like that. This mischief was clearly set up while I was stuck in bed. You should have been keeping a better watch on things down here!"  
  
Mrs. Norris gave me another long stare before resuming her wash. She had stayed up in the hospital wing with me. Poppy hadn't had the heart to chase her away. When my condition had improved enough for me to start noticing things again, I'd been dismayed.  
  
"If you're spending all your time here then who's watching my office?" I'd asked my cat.  
  
Poppy had been quick to defend Mrs. Norris. "Don't be an ungrateful beast, Filch. The poor little creature was in such a dreadful state when you were missing. And then, when Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall brought you back half dead, she was beside herself!"  
  
It wasn't that I had lacked gratitude. I'd just been concerned over what sort of pranks might be cooked up during my absence. My office had been vulnerable without someone I could trust to guard it. I'd tried to convince Mrs. Norris to reconsider her priorities, but she'd continued to watch over me as if she were afraid to let me out of her sight again.  
  
Speaking of pranks, this was clearly a "Welcome Back, So Glad You're Feeling Fit Again" `gift' from somebody. As I stood there, dripping, I decided that my galleons were on either Fred and George Weasley, or...  
  
"Oy! Filch! Fiiiiiiilch! Did you like your surprise? Is your office all nicey-nice and clean now?"  
  
Peeves.  
  
From the sound of things, the poltergeist had been waiting somewhere not too far away from my office, listening for the sound of the SPLAT. Now he was coming in closer, to have a nice gloat.  
  
Less than an hour out of the hospital wing and my life was already getting back to what I would consider "normal."  
  
I looked over at my desk, hoping that nothing there had been ruined by the exploding bubble. There was only one piece of parchment on the desk and it looked unscathed. I breathed a sigh of relief. That parchment had been a gift from Professor Flitwick. He'd charmed the parchment to instantly record the name of any student who had been put down for detention. I would have hated to see it ruined.  
  
The Detention Parchment currently held three names. Three students who had been disrespectful in Charms class. I read the names and my heart turned to ice. Suddenly I felt anything but "normal."  
  
I began to tremble uncontrollably. Memories I really couldn't keep banished for long overwhelmed me. Professor Snape had told Lucius Malfoy that he was going to use a memory charm on me. But that had been a lie to placate the other man, and to maintain the Professor's dangerous role as a spy among the Death Eaters. I remembered everything all too clearly; a bitterly cold night, three weeks ago, in the dungeon of a ruined tower. I remembered the faces, the voices, and the sharp knives and the pain. Especially the pain.  
  
The blood drained out of my face as I clutched the the edge of my desk to keep from falling. I'd broken out in a cold sweat. My heart was beating too hard and I couldn't breathe properly. I would not let myself be sick. I would not let myself be sick. I would not let...  
  
Peeves chose that moment to come floating through my open office door. His already wide mouth was open even wider with a self-satisfied smile. Held captive by the dreadful memories, I stared at the poltergeist almost without recognition.  
  
My battle with Peeves has been a very long one. Between myself and the poltergeist there has never been any quarter asked and no quarter has ever been given..  
  
I suppose that I must have really looked like death warmed over. Even so, Peeves' reaction to the state he found me in was unexpected.  
  
His sharp little face twisted with anger and fear, an expression I'd never earned from him before.  
  
"Stupid old Filch!" he wailed as I clung to my desk and struggled to breathe. He hurled himself like a bludger around my office and, in his wake, some of the drawers in my file cabinets burst open and papers scattered everywhere.  
  
"Go ahead and croak!" Peeves added, in an even louder shriek. "I won't even care! Wretched, smelly Filch!".  
  
Mrs. Norris, fur puffed out all around her like a dusty halo, hissed at him. Then she leaped off the desk, straight at the poltergeist. Peeves retreated back into the corridor.  
  
"It wasn't me..." he cried at her. "I didn't do it! It was the boys who messed with old Filch's things! The twins, they did it!" Highly agitated, he flew away down the corridor. I could hear things falling and crashing as he flew past.  
  
"Well..." I said weakly to Mrs. Norris. "What's gotten into him?" I realized that I'd somehow ended up sitting on the floor with papers fluttering down all around me. "What a mess..." I whispered, resting my head on my knees.  
  
Mrs. Norris pushed her little head anxiously against my hand.  
  
"Don't fuss at me, my sweet... I'm fine."  
  
After some time, when I was able to move again, I started mechanically gathering papers. Keeping busy, that was the ticket. I wanted to feel angry at Peeves because of the mess, but I just felt dazed and wobbly.  
  
"Argus! What's happened in here?"  
  
The sudden sound of someone else in the room made me jump with fright. "Headmaster!" I gasped. "You startled me..."  
  
Blue eyes looked at me with concern from behind his spectacles. "So I see. Forgive me. I went to see you in the hospital wing, and Poppy told me that she'd released you. On the condition that you would restrict yourself to light duties, only." He frowned.  
  
"I-I'm just tidying up my office a bit..." I said, faintly. "It was Peeves. He..."  
  
"Yes, I saw Peeves when he passed me in the corridor," Dumbledore murmured. "He looked as if he'd had a bit of a scare himself. He was unusually quiet while you were recovering, you know." He sighed. "Argus, I can see that you are still not well. You shouldn't be up and around yet. I am bringing you back to the hospital wing."  
  
"My work..." I protested.  
  
"Will keep until you are strong enough to do it."  
  
"Poppy said that I could get up."  
  
"She has been reconsidering that decision. I had the distinct impression that you bullied and badgered her mercilessly to let you up out of bed this morning." He was still stern, but there was a touch of humor in his voice. "And then, when that had no effect, you resorted to shameless begging until she took pity on you."  
  
Poppy had told on me! Embarrassed, I stared intently at the pile of papers in my hand. It was true that I didn't feel particularly strong or well yet. But staying in bed had grown unbearable. I needed to keep myself busy enough to keep the memories away.  
  
"Madam Pomfrey is aware that you were unable to make it from the hospital wing all the way down here to your office without needing to rest quite a number of times." Dumbledore continued.  
  
How did she know...? It must have been the portraits! Poppy had probably alerted all of them to watch me for signs of lingering infirmity. I'd felt eyes all over me as I'd walked through the castle corridors. Wretched things. After I'd always taken such good care of them too!  
  
"I promised to fetch you for her and bring you back upstairs. I do hope you're going to come along quietly?" Dumbledore's tone was deceptively mild.  
  
"I can't leave this mess..." I said.  
  
Dumbledore picked his way carefully through all the papers scattered on the floor to look at my desk blotter. He read the three names on the Detention Parchment. I looked up to find him studying me with concern.  
  
I realized that I was still shaking.  
  
"Very well... we shall clean up first." His crooked nose wrinkled. "But the atmosphere in here is a bit ...pungent. Not particularly good for your health." Wandless, he made a tiny gesture with his right hand.  
  
"Floreo," he said. The wave of power that accompanied even the smallest use of his magic washed over me. Suddenly my office smelled as sweet as a rose garden.  
  
I was about to thank him when he got down on his knees and began to help me gather up papers.  
  
"Headmaster," I said, scandalized, "get up off the floor! You must have more important things to do..."  
  
"I am doing something important. I am preventing my caretaker from overworking himself until he collapses. And then I am going to make sure that he goes back to bed where he belongs."  
  
"Will you put a protective charm on my office door to keep pranksters out?" I asked him, grumpily. "A suitably nasty one?"  
  
"One that I consider appropriate, yes."  
  
I sighed. It would have to do.  
  
" Hmmm."Dumbledore said, examining the papers he'd collected. "Did you have these organized alphabetically, or by year?"  
  
"By year, and then alphabetically."  
  
"All right. I'll take care of this lot. You sit and rest."  
  
I stared at Dumbledore in shock, but Mrs. Norris was regarding him with approval. She jumped into my lap and began to purr. Automatically, I began to pet her.  
  
"You could use a spell..." I faltered. "This will take you too long without one."  
  
"No, it will not, provided that you keep resting until I've finished." He was using his "Headmaster" voice on me. Obediently I sat still.  
  
"Rather a lot of pages marked "Weasley," aren't there..." Dumbledore murmured.  
  
"There's rather a lot of Weasleys. Mostly it's Fred and George. They have their own drawer. Other Weasleys can be filed with the rest of the school, under "W," according to year.You won't find any "Weasley" papers marked "Percy," though. I never had the heart to punish him. Not only did he have a proper respect for rules, he has to live with the twins. Even I could never think of a punishment worse than that."  
  
Dumbledore's bushy eyebrows rose. "That's rather harsh, Argus."  
  
"Percy agreed with you, surprisingly enough," I admitted. "I gave him my opinion on the matter, once. He was terribly affronted. "They're my brothers!" he said. He doesn't deserve the twins and they certainly don't deserve him."  
  
I was aware that I was practically babbling. But if the Headmaster insisted that I should sit still, then I felt I had to keep talking. Stillness was unbearable..  
  
Dumbledore smiled, as if he didn't mind my chatter. Then, as he picked up a new sheet of paper, his face changed. His eyes filled with sorrow.  
  
I saw the student's name on the paper he held, and flinched.  
  
Cedric Diggory.  
  
"He was punished just the one time," I said, miserably. "It was during his first Quidditch season on the Hufflepuff house team. It had been raining. They all came in from practice dripping mud everywhere. I said all the things that I usually say. That I'd had enough, and I was tired and already had far too much work to do, and they had no respect..." I winced. "You know how I get."  
  
There was no tactful way to respond to that, and the Headmaster politely kept silent.  
  
"And Cedric... he looked at me, stricken! Even before I gave them all detention."  
  
I sighed. "Headmaster, he actually looked sorry for what they'd done. No one else had ever taken what I said to heart like that. For several years I hardly thought about that incident at all... but now I can close my eyes and see his face."  
  
"He made certain that the Hufflepuff team never left me a mess again," I continued softly. "For all the rest of his life."  
  
"I have never regretted anything I've said to a student before." My voice cracked. "I've never regretted punishing one either. But now I wish that I could tell him that it was just a little mud. No harm done."  
  
We were both silent for a while after that. Dumbledore's expression was bittersweet, as if he were glad to learn something about Cedric that he hadn't heard before.  
  
"Please," I said in a small voice, "you won't tell anyone I said that, will you?"  
  
"When necessary, I can keep secrets like a house elf, Argus," Dumbledore said quietly.  
  
"Thank you," I murmured.  
  
I'd started to tremble again. Cedric Diggory had been killed by Death Eaters, on the orders of He Who Must Not Be Named. Not because he'd done anything to harm or anger them. The Death Eaters hadn't cared about who Cedric was. Cedric had been nothing to them. He'd simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.  
  
Mrs. Norris mewled at me. I realized that instead of petting her, I was rubbing at the ugly welts on my wrists; souvenirs of a pair of rusty, cursed chains. The Death Eaters hadn't killed me like they'd killed that poor boy, but they hadn't spared my life out of kindness either.  
  
The papers scattered on the floor had all been sorted into neat stacks. Dumbledore stood up to put each stack in the correct file drawer. After he'd done that, he crossed to my desk and picked the Detention Parchment up.  
  
I watched him study the names on it.  
  
Draco Malfoy  
  
Vincent Crabbe  
  
Gregory Goyle  
  
Three boys who were all so very like their fathers.  
  
"Headmaster," I whispered, "I know we've never seen eye to eye on the subject of punishment. But these three Death Eaters' spawn surely deserve to be locked in chains and hung up by their ankles."  
  
"Not for the evil things that their fathers have done, Argus." Dumbledore's voice was very gentle. "You will not be handling their detention, at any rate. Severus has asked to deal with them himself. And I have agreed."  
  
"He'll be too easy on them!" The cry wrenched itself out of me before I could stop it.  
  
Dumbledore's voice was sad. "Severus only favors the Slytherin students in front of the other houses. In private, among his own, he can be quite ...harsh. The Slytherins expect that from him. They do not respect weakness."  
  
If possible, my tremors became even worse. I knew how "harsh" Snape could be.  
  
"Many of the students in Slytherin house require careful handling. Severus is the one who can do that best. They are still children, undecided between the Dark and the Light. Many of them face tests and trials unknown among the members of the other houses. Severus knows that difficult path all too well."  
  
"Is that what you were coming to tell me, Headmaster?" I asked bitterly. "That these three ...children would not be mine to punish?"  
  
Mrs. Norris lay still under my nervous hands. I could feel her gentle breath and her small heart beating. Slowly, I was able to get my trembling under control.  
  
"No, Argus. As I said, I'd expected to find you still in the hospital wing. I was actually coming to see you there for quite a different reason." He took a deep breath. "I promised Severus that I would discuss something with you once you were feeling a little better. It is a difficult matter..." he warned me, "involving your recent ordeal."  
The blue eyes behind the half-moon glasses studied me intently. I felt as though he could see right through me.  
  
"It's all right, Headmaster..." I whispered. "I'm listening."  
  
"Lucius Malfoy had a scroll in his possession. Severus has it now. It is a very nasty piece of Dark Magic, of a type that Severus has not seen before. Most of the scroll is indecipherable. A potion can be used to make it readable. The potion must contain..."  
  
"Squib bits." I said, before he could continue "Hair... nails...skin." I shivered again. "I heard them discussing it, that night."  
  
Dumbledore looked grim. "I told Severus that the scroll should destroyed. But he feels that we should try to read it first."  
  
"Severus is concerned that the scroll may not be only one of its kind. We have been able to translate just enough of it to learn that the danger it represents could be very great. Perhaps this scroll, or another like it, might reveal a way to break through many of the protective spells around Hogwarts Castle."  
  
I looked at him, my eyes full of fear.  
  
"I had to admit that Severus had a vaild point." Dumbledore said. His voice had grown very gentle again. "Argus, I do not like to ask you this, after what you have been through. But a single strand of your hair and a small sliver from one of your fingernails is all that would be required."  
  
I flinched. "Will he...? Is Professor Snape going t-to...?"  
  
"Severus has agreed that it would be best if you were to cut your own hair and nails for him."  
  
"Gracious of him," I muttered. Once Severus Snape had been one of the few people I truly trusted. Now, even though I knew he'd risked his life to save mine, I could hardly bear to be in the same room with him. It wasn't something I was terribly proud of, but it was true all the same.  
  
I snorted with disgust. Snips and slivers had been all that the Death Eaters had really needed from me. All that blood and pain for nothing... except, possibly for their amusement. I felt ill.  
  
"I told him that he would have to agree to abide by your decision. If you refused, then your word would be final." Dumbledore continued.  
  
There was a long pause. "He's agreed to destroy the thing after you and he have read it?" I whispered. I could still remember Lucius Malfoy's mocking voice. "If you fail," he'd said to Professor Snape, "then I will not stand between you and Lord Voldemort's displeasure."  
  
"If he destroys that scroll, they'll kill him." I said. "Did he tell you that?"  
  
Dumbledore suddenly looked closer to his age than I'd ever seen him look. "Severus intends to make the scroll's destruction look like an accident. The activating spells are quite tricky, even for someone with his talent and skill. I have asked for his assessment of the risks involved. He is certain that he will be punished. But he does not think he will be killed."  
  
I felt even more ill. Whether I agreed to help him or not, Snape was doomed to suffer either way. Helping him seemed the only decent thing to do. As long as he wasn't going to come near me with anything sharp. He was really asking for very little.  
  
"Tell him I agree." My voice was so faint I could barely even hear myself. "Does he need those things now? I have a small pair of scissors and a pair of nail clippers in my desk drawer. Would you get them for me, please?"  
  
Dumbledore did as I asked. I managed to keep my hands steady. It took me only a moment to cut off a piece of piece of new fingernail and a strand of my hair. I handed them over carefully, watching as he sealed them inside a small glass vial he conjured up.  
  
"Thank you, Argus," he said, very gravely.  
  
******  
  
Taking Mrs. Norris (who wouldn't have let me leave her, anyhow) I went back to the hospital wing without making a fuss. By the time Poppy finally considered me fit enough to leave for good, the school was mostly empty of students because of the Christmas holiday. At last I could finally get some real cleaning done! The fact that there wouldn't be a lot of annoying brats underfoot made things even better.  
  
It was a relief to finally be back in my own rooms, and sleeping in my own bed. Most of the students would probably be shocked to learn that Mrs. Norris and I do not actually live in my cramped little dungeon office. We do not sleep among the file cabinets, and we do not spend all of our waking hours plotting to make the students' lives miserable.  
  
(All right, we do spend some time plotting against the students; everyone needs a bit of fun. I can't spend all my time cleaning, can I?)  
  
The rooms that Mrs. Norris and I call home are small, but quite pleasant. They're located on a lower floor of the castle. We have a window with a view of the lake. Mrs. Norris isn't really the sort of cat who likes to sun herself in front of windows, but she gives in to the temptation every now and then.  
  
In the middle of my first night back in my own bed, I woke up abruptly. Every nerve in my body was tingling. Something, somewhere, was calling me. But it was inside me too. I could feel that something whispering in my ears, gliding up and down my spine, rushing through my veins along with my blood.  
  
I knew I should be able to recognize what I was feeling. It was familiar. Almost like...  
  
Magic!  
  
All my life, I have been able to feel everyone else's magic. Spells have have danced across my skin, blown through my hair, and made my nose itch. Though I can feel magic, smell magic, and practically taste it, I have never been able to do a single spell on my own. But this magic had its roots somewhere deep inside me. A part of me that had been crippled and silent all my life was suddenly awake, and singing!  
  
This magic was all mine!  
  
And yet, someone else was using it.  
  
I knew exactly who that someone was. Black eyes in a pale face, framed by hair darker than midnight! I could almost see him, down there in his dungeon, bent over a scroll. (Unlike me, he actually does live down in the dungeons.)  
  
Severus Snape!  
  
I knew he'd told Dumbledore that he was trying to read the scroll only to understand its dangers. But I also remembered him telling Malfoy that he would wait until I was healed, so he could "experiment" with me.  
  
I was furious. What was he playing at? I would not let him steal my magic!  
  
Hardly aware of what I was doing, I got out of bed. Clad only in my long, grey nightshirt, not even bothering with my slippers, I went out of the rooms that Mrs. Norris and I share. I stalked barefoot through the cold, dark castle corridors. I had no lamp, but I needed none. Below me, in the dungeons of Hogwarts, my magic waited! It drew me like a moth to a flame.  
  
Mrs. Norris was padding softly after me. I heard a small, worried mew.  
  
"It's MINE, my sweet. He doesn't need it!" I hissed.  
  
I had hardly seen Snape since the night he and Professor McGonagall had rescued me from the Death Eaters. I'd been avoiding him. He'd been avoiding me too. I hadn't known if he was doing it out of respect for my feelings or for some reasons of his own. Now I knew.  
  
Moving through the Castle as effortlessly as a ghost, and just as unaffected by the cold, I was soon down in the dungeon, standing in front of the door to Snape's rooms.  
  
A strong protective ward on his door stopped me in my tracks.  
  
No! It wasn't fair! He couldn't keep me out here! He couldn't keep me away from what was rightfully mine! My hands curled into fists.  
  
Proper wizards have wands. I've never had one. They just don't respond to me. But powerful wizards like the Headmaster can do wandless magic. I've seen (and felt) Dumbledore do spells without a wand any number of times.  
  
For the first time in my life I could feel power crackling through my body. I thought I could focus it like the Headmaster did. I tried to remember the spell that Professor McGonagall had used to break the dungeon wall the night she had helped Snape free me from the Death Eaters.  
  
"Destruo!" I shouted.  
  
I felt the power flowing outward, through me. Snape's wards were very strong. They might have held, but for the fact that I could feel my magic, the part of it that was in there with him, attacking his door from both sides. He had not guarded against an attack from within.  
  
The results were quite satisfying. Snape's door blew open with a mighty crash. Unfortunately, it smashed right off its hinges, falling towards me and Mrs. Norris. I stayed in front of her, frantically reviewing all the spells I'd ever heard.  
  
"Pulveris!" I cried, and the pieces of the door crumbled into a cloud of dust. It made a horrid mess. I didn't care.  
  
Snape had been sitting, hunched over a thickly scrolled up piece of parchment. Near him, a small cauldron was simmering.  
  
He stared at me. His black eyes were fathomless.  
  
"Filch...?" he said, sounding shocked.  
  
" Good evening, Professor!" I hissed. "Or should I call you thief? Magic Stealer? Give me what's MINE!"  
  
END OF CHAPTER THREE 


	4. Abyss

The Squib and the Death Eaters  
Chapter Four: Abyss  
a Harry Potter fan-fic  
by Ozma  
(This story takes place during Harry's fifth year.)  
  
  
I was expecting Professor Snape to be furious. Or defensive. I was expecting him to attack me.   
But he did nothing that I expected him to do.  
  
I was standing before him, with real magic in me for the very first time in my life. Wandless, I'd   
just shattered his protective wards, blasted the door of his dungeon to pieces and then reduced those pieces   
to dust! But those spells had taken a toll on me. My head ached, my legs were shaky and I could hardly   
focus my eyes, let alone my magic. (It occurred to me that there is a reason why most wizards do not   
perform wandless magic. It will drain them from within, much more quickly than any outside threat.)  
  
Mrs. Norris stayed beside me as I made my way into Snape's classroom. My cat was looking at   
me as if she wished she could drag me out of there by the scruff of my neck, like an errant kitten. She   
clearly didn't think that I was behaving wisely. But she remained with me anyhow, while I faced Snape.  
  
The professor was sitting at one of the student desks. Beside him was a student-sized cauldron,   
heating slowly over a very small fire. On the desk in front of him were a small, silver dipper and a tiny   
porcelain container, shaped like an inkwell, with a quill sticking out of it. The scroll that had formerly   
belonged to Lucius Malfoy was in his hands.  
  
Severus Snape simply looked at me as Mrs. Norris and I came closer. And something in his pale   
face made me think of Cedric Diggory.  
  
Poor Cedric had only ever gotten one detention from me. Years ago he and his team-mates had   
muddied up a corridor during Quidditch season. Struggling with my usual once-a-year bout of flu, I'd   
been in an even worse temper than usual. Cedric had listened to my wheezing, hoarse voice and stared at   
my red, dripping nose. Even before I'd stopped complaining and started handing out punishments, Cedric   
had looked stricken. As if he'd unwittingly done something unforgivable, and was only just realizing it.  
  
Snape was looking at me with almost exactly the same sorrowful expression.  
  
Why was he looking at me like that? I had been angry. No, I'd been furious, but now I was   
baffled. It wasn't as if I'd expected him to be afraid of me... that would have been ridiculous. He was one   
of the most powerful wizards at Hogwarts. Even with the newfound power in me I was still no match for   
him, magically, and both of us knew it.  
  
"This is something I truly had not anticipated..." Snape said, softly. Then he sighed. "I should   
have listened to Albus. I should have destroyed this cursed thing."  
  
"You used that scroll to wake up my magic, didn't you?" I asked him, growing more confused by   
the moment.   
  
"Yes, Filch, I suppose I have done. It was unintentional." He was clearly angry, but it was with   
himself, and not with me.  
  
"I have used a very Dark spell," he continued, bitterly, "to activate this scroll. A word of power   
must be written across the top of the parchment. The ink must be made from a potion that contains,   
among other things, a squib's blood, hair, nails, skin and bone. Apparently, I have finally discovered all   
the ingredients and used them in their proper proportions."  
  
I gulped, queasily, remembering how Malfoy had given Snape the collection of "bits" that Crabbe   
and Goyle had removed from me. Some of those pieces must have been usable after all. Snape never   
would have dared to ask Dumbledore if he could have one of my bones.  
  
My tongue went automatically to the empty space where one of my molars had been. My mouth   
was still a bit sore. "What did you do? Go and steal my tooth from Crabbe and Goyle somehow?"  
  
Snape closed his eyes. "I didn't steal it," he said, tonelessly. "I challenged them to a game of   
chance, and won it from them."  
  
"Did you get my blood from them too?" I asked him. "I suppose there was enough of it left on the   
floor and walls of that place. I know you wouldn't have dared to ask Poppy for any."  
  
His dark eyes opened and met mine. "Dried blood would not have been usable," he lectured me,   
sounding like the potions master he was. "Fresh blood was obtained from my cloak. The one I had   
wrapped around you that night, when I carried you to the Apparition point for Minerva. She transfigured   
you into a stone so that she could Apparate with you safely. She handed my cloak back to me, the lining   
all streaked with your blood."  
  
"All right, so you've used Dark magic." I told him. "I can't say I mind the results too much."  
  
"It was not the result that I intended! I was simply trying to read the scroll!" The self-hatred in   
Snape's voice made me flinch. I'd never heard him sound like that before.   
  
It was true that I'd spent the past month fearing, doubting and avoiding Snape. But, for many   
years before that I'd trusted him. He sounded so tortured. I wanted to console him. "Professor, it's all   
right! What you've done hasn't harmed me. I've been hoping for this all my life! Until now I was never   
sure if I had any magic in me at all!"  
  
"Of course you have magic, Filch." Snape said, sounding as if I was being unbearably thick.   
"You were sired by a wizard, and carried under a witch's heart. Squibs have some magic within them,   
even if it is locked up in a place they can never reach. You're a fool and you don't understand what I've   
done to you!"   
  
His dark eyes looked haunted and miserable. "I've left you balanced on the edge of an abyss," he   
said.  
  
"You're right, I don't understand." I replied.  
  
"You will. Come here." He used the same tone that he uses when he teaches a class. I obeyed him   
quickly. It's not magic, it's just his personality.  
  
"Closer, Filch. I want you to see this scroll that has awakened your magic."  
  
As he spoke, he was unrolling the thing. When I saw what was on it I gasped. The portion of the   
scroll that I saw seemed, at first glance, to be covered in blood. Then I realized that the ink was the same   
color as fresh blood. The words were written in a crabbed old fashioned hand, in a language that I   
couldn't read. But the pictures spoke plainly for themselves. They horrified me.  
  
Images of severed body parts... fingers, eyes, a tongue. A diagram showing a man with the skin   
being flayed from his back. Swallowing hard against a wave of nausea, I stepped back.  
  
"Squibs differ from other wizards in several interesting ways," Snape said. "It's true that they can   
not create and sustain spells, at least not under normal circumstances, but a squib is not magically   
...inert."  
  
He fixed me with eyes like two deep black holes. "There are ways that the magic trapped inside a   
squib can be tapped and used by a more powerful wizard. The squib's store of unused potential can be   
added to that of the other wizard, increasing his powers. This scroll contains spells that might enable a   
Dark wizard to Apparate within the walls of Hogwarts, even inside the Headmaster's own chamber. If he   
wears a charmed cloak, made from the skin of a squib."  
  
I sat down on the student table next to the one he was using. My legs were no longer able to   
support me. Mrs. Norris leaped up lightly beside me and I took her onto my lap.  
  
"This thing must be destroyed." Snape rolled the scroll back up again, hiding the dreadful   
diagrams and pictures from view.  
  
"Wait..." I heard myself say. "Professor... must you? You don't have to use those dark spells! Just   
keep the scroll, and let me keep my magic! Please!"  
  
I sounded mad and desperate. Because I could feel that whatever it was he had done to awaken   
my magic was starting to wear off. The song inside me was growing still and silent once more. I knew   
that I would feel more empty than ever when it was gone.  
  
"Please," I repeated, begging him, clutching at his sleeve. "You don't have to read the spells, you   
don't have to use them, ever. Just write one more word of power on the page... just one!"  
  
"No, Filch. Keeping this scroll was never one of my choices. Dumbledore wants the thing   
destroyed. As for the Dark Lord... he wants the scroll brought to him, its secrets revealed, along with a   
squib he can use to access its spells. The Death Eater who brings him what he wants is sure to be   
rewarded."  
  
I stared at Snape, my eyes wide with horror.  
  
"This scroll is a very ancient piece of Dark magic," he said. "One that even the Dark Lord had   
not seen before. Malfoy had the scroll in his collection, but he was unable to unlock more than a tiny   
fraction of its secrets. I was able to figure out a way to activate it and read the spells, but I didn't fully   
understand the true Darkness in this thing until I saw its effect on you."  
  
His voice grew softer, sorrowful and deadly cold at the same time. "Did you like being able to   
work spells, Filch? Did you like it well enough to crawl before Lord Voldemort? Would you kiss the hem   
of his robes just to have another little taste?"  
  
"Stop..." I whispered. "Professor, please..."  
  
"As near as I can understand, a stronger spell would be needed to activate the scroll each time.   
And the cost would be higher in blood and pain. Are you willing to give yourself to him, one finger, one   
eye, one tooth at a time? Make no mistake, Filch, he would have some use for every last bit of you. Or you   
could always pay him with the suffering of others. Would you be willing to betray any trust to be able to   
use your magic again? He would take the lion's share of your untapped power for himself, of course. But   
he might feel generous enough to throw you scraps every now and then. Scraps like the magic that you   
used to force your way in here."  
  
I was weeping. Dry, wracking sobs choked me. Mrs. Norris pushed her small head against my   
chin. She stayed still, even though my tears were falling on her.  
  
"Would you beg him for those scraps of magic, the way you begged me?" Snape's voice cut into   
me like a knife and scraped me raw.  
  
"You don't understand...." I managed to gasp out.  
  
"Of course not." His tone was harsh enough to strip the skin from my back, like that poor squib   
in the scroll drawing. "How could I possibly understand? I know absolutely nothing about the seductive   
temptation of power!" Sarcasm dripped from his words like acid.  
  
It was a while before I could speak. "I only meant..." I whispered hoarsely, "that you don't   
understand what it feels like to be powerless..."  
  
"Don't I?" Snape snarled bitterly. He sounded very near tears himself. "Do I have the power to   
change the past, and undo the terrible mistakes I've made? Can I rescue the innocents I've failed to save,   
the innocents left broken at my own hands?"  
  
He was looking at me. I realized, to my shock, that he was adding me to the number of innocents   
he felt he carried on his conscience.  
  
His harsh anger was turned inward again, against himself. "I do not even have the power to keep   
the children of my own house, my Slytherins, safe from the Dark! Not when some of them have whole   
families already too far gone along Voldemort's twisted path!"  
  
The only sounds in the room were my wretched sobs. Snape fell silent. He would not allow   
himself the release of tears. I'd seen deeper into him than I ever had before. Every Slytherin child who fell   
to the Dark was another piece wrenched from a heart he didn't want anyone to know he had.  
  
"So, Filch." His voice had grown silky, but underneath the smoothness I could still hear the   
painful rasp of his unshed tears. "The Headmaster did say that I must defer to you, in matters concerning   
the scroll. Tell me. Which of my two masters shall I serve now? Shall I destroy this ugly thing as   
Dumbledore wants me to do? Or shall I please my Dark master by bringing him the prize he seeks?"  
  
He looked at me coolly, dark eyes fathomless.  
  
"Destroy the scroll, Professor." I whispered.  
  
An abyss, he'd called it. I had been able to step back from the edge. I thought of Severus walking   
his lonely shadow path between the Dark and the Light. He'd fallen into the abyss once, and pulled   
himself back out again. He had returned to walk along its edge, a guide to help others find their way back.   
He'd let me choose my own path. I wondered how anyone could be that strong.   
  
We had scored a small victory against the Dark, but I felt too shaken to rejoice.  
  
I held Mrs. Norris tightly and tried to stop crying into her fur. She was beginning to look like a   
soggy dust mop. She gave me an annoyed look, but rubbed her head against my chin. I sniffled and wiped   
my eyes and nose on the sleeve of my nightshirt.  
  
With an annoyed expression rivaling that of Mrs. Norris, Snape reached into one of his pockets.   
He handed me a clean handkerchief and glowered at me until I'd used it.  
  
"How are you going to do destroy that scroll?" I asked him.  
  
"There are a number of mistakes that I could have made while performing the activating spell. I   
might have used the wrong balance of ingredients in the potion for the ink. I might have heated my   
cauldron a bit too much, or not enough. The ink must be kept precisely at the temperature of human   
blood, so a few degrees either way would have been disastrous."  
  
Snape paused. "I think, perhaps, my fire was a bit too hot." He drew his wand out of his sleeve   
and pointed it at the small fire under the cauldron. The flame grew, almost imperceptibly. He let the   
potion heat up for a few moments before he reached into the cauldron with the small, silver dipper. He   
poured the blood red mixture into the small porcelain inkwell and dipped the quill inside. The he reached   
for the scroll.  
  
"You may feel this, Argus," he warned, sounding sorrowful again. He touched the quill to the   
scroll and began to write in blood red letters. The letters hissed as they formed on the page, turning it a   
mottled black. The blackness spread across the parchment, like some sort of fungus. The scroll began to   
crumble in places, slowly falling completely to pieces.  
  
Snape was right, I did feel the effects of the scroll's destruction. The little bit of magic that still   
remained from his earlier spell went silent and dead. The emptiness hurt me, deep inside, and I couldn't   
help crying out.  
  
"It's over," he said quietly.  
  
Both of us looked at the pile of black dust on the student desk.  
  
"What will He Who Must Not Be Named do to you, Professor?" I whispered. "You told the   
Headmaster that you didn't think you'd be killed. Are you sure about that?"  
  
"I'm sure that whatever Voldemort does to punish me for my failure won't be pleasant, but I will   
probably survive." Snape's tone was dismissive. He didn't like it when other people fussed over him. I'd   
learned that years ago.  
  
"I'm almost more worried about what Lucius Malfoy is going to say to me," Snape said, ruefully.   
"He's going to gloat unbearably. The Potions Master, making such a first-year mistake..."  
  
He turned away from the concerned look on my face.   
  
"The next thing we must do is get rid of this lot. Keeping it around might well present a danger   
to you." Snape said. He nodded down at the cauldron. "I will just melt the whole thing down into a   
puddle of unrecognizable slag. Where's Longbottom when I need him?"  
  
I stroked Mrs. Norris, watching as Snape proceeded to melt the cauldron. He used a spell to   
contain the fumes when they got too bad.  
  
"Professor...?" I asked him, hesitantly. "If I'd chosen differently, if I had said that you should   
take me to He Who Must Not Be Named, along with the scroll, would you have done that?"  
  
"I would have truly been surprised if you'd made that choice, Argus." His voice was quiet as he   
watched the cauldron melt.   
  
His faith in me was the highest praise I had ever been given. I was deeply moved.  
  
"Ah, well. They're a messy lot, Death Eaters," I said. "Blood all over their walls... rusty chains   
and holes in the roofs of their dungeons. I'd much rather choose to stay here and make the brats' lives   
miserable. At least there's a hope of getting a few of them to wipe their feet sometimes."  
  
Snape smiled, but spoke with an echo of his earlier sadness. "I regret forcing you into a position   
where you had to make such a choice."  
  
"I don't regret it..." I told him. I wanted Snape to see that what he'd done hadn't broken me.   
Instead, he had shown me that I could be strong. Powerful enough to refuse the thing that I wanted most   
in all the world, when the price was too high.   
  
I waved a hand towards the empty doorway, taking in the wrenched hinges and the huge piles of   
dust out in the corridor. "I've had a chance to do real magic, Professor! And perhaps some day, my magic   
might decide to wake up on its own. I can wait, I'm used to waiting. At least now I know my magic is   
really there."  
  
A little more softly, I added "I am sorry about your door, though. I'll have it fixed as soon as   
possible. Do you want me to take care of the mess for you?" I nodded towards the melted cauldron on the   
table and out towards the piles of dust in the hall.  
  
"It will keep till morning."  
  
I grinned. "Professor, it is morning. And I've spent almost a month resting. It's time I got back to   
work."  
  
"You're right, the castle is in desperate need of some cleaning..." Snape said dryly. "But   
shouldn't you at least get dressed first?"  
  
I remembered that I was still barefoot and in my nightshirt.  
  
Mrs. Norris gave me an amused look and began washing her paws.  
  
"There's still a few hours yet before breakfast," he said. "Go back to bed, Filch. I'll see you in the   
Great Hall."  
  
I was glad to see a faint smile on Snape's face. A real one this time, untouched by guilt or   
shadows.  
  
  
  
The End  
  
Author's Notes: Thanks so much to the folks who left me such nice reviews!! Tina and Teluekh (Poor   
Filch. He didn't get to keep his powers. I agree that his lack of magic is one of the most interesting things   
about the old git.) Arcee (I'm trying my best to keep Filch in character, though I think there's more to   
him than the students get to see.) Melodie and Nightengale (I'm a Snape fan too... those eyes, that voice,   
those hands!) and Atheis and Zebee and Goggled Monkey and Amberdulen (I decided to take your advice   
about the rating. You were very close about the identity of Filch's rescuer in chapter 2.) and Bluemeanies   
(Thanks for your kind reviews of my other stories too, you have really made my day!!!!)   
  
  
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